Up in the pines of Harads, just south of the Arctic Circle, lies a place that feels whispered, not shouted: Treehotel — where architecture floats among branches and the forest becomes your window. Here, design and wilderness aren’t opposed; they’re collaborators.
You first notice the quiet. The rustle of needles. The scent of spruce and snow in the air (depending on the season). And then — the tree rooms. Each one a distinct vision, perched several meters above ground, always different, always surprising.
Take the Mirrorcube, for example. A mirrored cube clad in reflective glass that camouflages itself mid‑forest. From afar you barely see it — from inside, it’s a 360° portal into treetops. Or step into the Bird’s Nest, where a lattice of timber branches conceals a cozy cocooned suite for up to four. The UFO is cheeky and playful — a disc suspended in the canopy, one that delights kids and kids‑at‑heart alike. Then there’s Blue Cone, whimsical and nostalgic, like you wandered into a children’s book. And for scale lovers, Dragonfly offers generous lounge areas and panoramic windows. The 7th Room, designed by Snøhetta, plays with lightness: netted terraces, space underfoot, beams that let you lie down and stare at stars. And most recently, Biosphere, shaped into a globe studded with 350 bird nesting boxes, straddles function and habitat in a striking dance.
Each treeroom is its own personality: some intimate, some bold, some whispering, some boldly visible. But all share basics: underfloor heating, modern bathrooms (though note — incineration toilets are its kind of rugged chic), and design choices that favor quiet, connection, and minimal impact. They’re built with local wood and eco‑materials. The hotel’s ethos reads in its bones: “build in nature, not over it.” They use LED lighting, green hydro power, and limit their footprint. You’ll find no sewage pipes running wild; water is handled carefully, and sustainability is assumed, not marketed.
Winter stays are something else. The forest goes silent under snow. You might ride snowmobiles across frozen rivers, dog‑sled in hushed white expanses, or night up in your treeroom and watch the Aurora Borealis swirl through sky that seems infinitely deep. In summer, forests shift to emerald green; more light, more birdsong, canoe trips on the nearby Lule River. And always, in every season, a tree room offers refuge from the ordinary.
But beyond standout designs and northern magic, what anchors Treehotel is intention. The founders — Britta and Kent — are not idealists simply chasing novelty. They’ve long said their goal is to let guests rediscover awe. Each room is a prompt: be small, feel sky, breathe forest. It’s not a retreat of indulgence, but one of re‑attunement.
Will it blow your mind? Maybe. Will it make you rethink what a hotel can be? Almost certainly. It’s aesthetic and wild. Luxurious yet rooted. After a stay, you might find yourself haunted by branches and shadow, by sky framed in glass. And in a world chasing more, Treehotel asks for less — less barrier, less fuss — and gives back more: wonder.
If you’re chasing winter silence or summer light, this is a place worth the journey. Pack layers, then let the forest do the rest.
